


And when i break it’s in a million pieces

by Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Do you know how hard, F/M, Family Dynamics, Female Desmond Miles, Isu magic bullshit, It was to write that relationship tag?, Non-consensual experimentation, Tag As I Go, They really wanted, Unconventional Families, Unplanned Pregnancy, but not for this story, farm living, it to be slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29940867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish/pseuds/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish
Summary: In a temple resided five children, three sentinels, and one woman laid upon an altar.
Relationships: Clay Kaczmarek | Subject 16/Desmond Miles, Desmond Miles & Altair Ibn-La-Ahad & Ezio Auditore da Firenze & Ratonhnhake:ton | Connor, Desmond Miles & Elijah Miles
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whats this! A story that doesnt have sansa as a character? Inconceivable! Uhhhhh *gestures wildly* I dunno you guys. Its been awhile and this has been marinating in my mind. I know some were hoping for more of that Jedi Stark sister story, buuuuuut job sucks and I miss having more time to write. So here is this weird bullshit. 
> 
> The idea of a female desmond always intrigued me, not for romantic purposes but just what would change. Especially with how in canon desmond fathered a kid unknowingly. So here is my weird take and smushing it with star wars. I will admit I was inspired by esama, but who isn’t in this fandom these days?

Deep in the ground, walls pulsing blue and gold, laid a grey cavern. Steps of broken stone, winding through passage ways, which tunnelled deep into the earth, led the way for a would-be explorer through the construct. The temple. If they wandered deep enough, they would come across a door way, towering high and above. The entrance was blocked by a golden barrier, pulsing like a steady heartbeat. An on-looker would try to peek through once they realised that entering was barred for them. They would look in and see a curious sight, hazy through the barrier.

Laid out on a solid, stone cut altar, was a woman. Silent and still, she would look to be dead to the observer. Tossed over her body, with only her head showing, brown hair flared around it in strong waves, was a white sheet. Like a funeral shroud. Only, if one could peer close enough, would they be able to spot the faint bump in her abdomen. But no one from the outside looking in could see that, a secret kept between the occupants of this temple.

Around the altar, sitting with their backs to the stone slab, were five children. Only three could be seen though, two others hidden from view. The child forward facing an on-looker was young, perhaps only of mid adolescence. Black hair curled and wild, skin a deep golden tan. In a trance the child seemed, strange circuitry markings glowing just as the barrier was. In his hand, sat a crystal, glowing brighter than any of the other occupants that seemed to have that other-worldly light to them.

Triangulating the children and woman, were three large and heavily armed men. Sentinels they stood, guarding and alert to anything that happened both within and outside the room. The on-looker would have to squint and tilt ones head to notice how ghostly their forms seemed, as they stalked around their charges.

The observers would never be able to force their way through, never deemed safe enough to pass the barrier. Inside, time was frozen, whilst outside life moved and expanded onwards. Untouched by elements or man-made machines, the occupants were locked away tight.

Thousands upon thousands of years would pass before the barrier would allow itself to fall.

To some, this story started when Elijah stumbled across a laboratory as he was escaping the Phoenix Project. It was hidden deep in the bowels of the facility, a part he had never journeyed through. Darkly lit, the room held four large tube-like containers, glass so that you could look in to see the subjects that floated within the liquid. With the lighting within the containers, the fluid lit blue, with the individual bodies pale and deathly.

Children. Perhaps half his age, curled up like a foetus in their artificial wombs. Elijah approached the computer connected to the closest container, hands glowing as he easily by-passed the passwords and security to find out exactly what he was looking at.

The key phrases that stuck out to him were ‘Subject 17’ and ‘cloning’. According to the data, the four children, grown in tubes, were the genetically engineered children of his mother. They were his siblings. Diving in further, Elijah learnt that they were created and would be raised to be completely loyal to Juno and the Instruments, allowing the group to access the strong bloodline with complete obedience on the children’s part. And they were to be decanted in two days time.

Elijah bit his lip, unsure of how to proceed. In the back of his mind, Aita tried to speak, but years of practise had the Isu easily shut out. Elijah did not want to hear anything from him. And then a thought of his own occurred: where were they getting this DNA in order to create his siblings.

Brows furrowed, he cast a look around the rest of the room, and spotted a medical curtain pulled across a section at the back. Blue light faintly backlit the material, and slowly, with trepidation and hope building in his chest, Elijah approached the hidden area.

He had been adopted when he was a baby, knowing at a young age that his parents didn’t share the same blood. He loved them dearly, and taking down the Instruments and Juno was a plan he made out of desire to bring vengeance for their murders. They were kind, understanding, even when his strange habits confused and sometimes frightened them. But they tried, and that was what mattered most. But Elijah was not one to lie to himself about how desperately he wanted to know of his birth parents. When Abstergo took him, he had been informed of the one night stand between his birth mother and father. About how his mom was only 17 when she became pregnant. They tried to twist his adoption in a way to manipulate him to resent his birth mother for giving him away, but Elijah couldn’t.

Too knowing to be a normal child, the boy could understand her reasonings. She was on the run. She was young and scared. What she did, she thought was for the best, and he could not fault her for that. A part of him was grateful he got to experience such normalcy as he grew, as it helped instil his morals and perspective of the world. Because of his parents, he wanted to save the world, not condemn it.

And staring at the body of his mother, laying flat and suspended in her own tank, Elijah couldn’t help how his heart beat rapidly at the sight of her. He looked just like her. Maybe his hair was darker, but it held the same curls. His dark skin. His strong nose. Even the slight sharpness at the tips of his ears. He got it all from her.

But unlike him, her markings of circuitry glowed consistently, where as his laid dormant until he used his abilities. The markings were more prominent on her hands and arms, creeping up her shoulders to her cheeks and temples. Elijah could feel the tightening of his throat at how beautiful she was to him.

His bottom lip trembled as he placed his hand against the glass, breath flogging the surface as he pressed close to look at her. Besides the plain white underwear that covered her modesty, she was bare, and a hot rage ignited at how exposed they had made her. She was near lifeless and vulnerable in the jaws of their enemies. Only the monitor, faintly beeping, and the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, signalled that she was alive, but defenceless

Eyes closing, the boy leant his forehead against the glass, feeling lost at what to do. He couldn’t just leave her here. Nor his siblings. Going over to the computer connected to her tank, he accessed her information, wondering if it was safe to remove her from this life support. But within that information he read, Elijah stilled with shock at the report. Distantly, he wondered if all these revelations were going to cause his mind to shut down for a break from the upheaval.

His mother. She was pregnant. A true pregnancy, though the information could not find who the father was. There was speculation in the report that it could be a Shaun Hastings child, as he was the only male around the time of the predicted conception. But there was no confirmed report.

Curious himself, Elijah reached out with his power, both hands now on the glass, and tried to connect with his mother’s own power. It was like pressing an ear to a brick wall, only managing to faintly hear what was going on the other side.

The unborn child was certainly alive, with a strong barrier wrapping around the womb. The rest of the woman could be touched and invaded by needles and knives, but not the womb. Something was guarding the child, wrapped tight and viciously around it. Keeping it under a frozen stasis, until it was safe to be born.

Now, Elijah was determined to get her free more than ever. The report showed that her body was already in coma state when they found it laying in the Grand Temple. A stasis keeping everything about her, including her pregnancy, paused in development and growth. The possibility of her waking up when taken out was low if she was found in such condition pre-tank.

He knew if he decided to leave and come back another time, that all five of his new found family would be gone. Whether taken by the assassins, another branch of the Templars, or someone else. Either way, he only had one opportunity.

Turning to glance back at his siblings, Elijah made up his mind.

To others, the story could have started when she woke up. Around her was glass and machinery, and she huddled close to her exposed body, cold fluid dripping off her skin. Everything was quiet, outside the glass, the world muted and far away. Watching her though, was another being.

She knew only vague knowledge fed into her unconscious mind, such as her current body age (nine), but her age could also be when she was created (three years old). She also knew bodies gender(female). There was also the knowledge that this was not what was to greet her when she was decanted.

A name of ‘Juno’ floated across her mind, a strange instilled loyalty worming it’s way in. But looking up at this boy that observed her, the name fell away like dust. Glass sliding open, cold air breezed through and she shivered. Wide eyed and waiting, she watched with caution as the boy wrapped a thick material around her bare body.

“Don’t worry, sister. You are safe and free now.”

Wet lips parted at the sound of his gentle reassurance, asking hesitantly, “Where is Juno?”

A frown marred his kind features at that name, and she couldn’t help the tremor of fear that ran up her spine as he spoke, “Dead. She would’ve hurt you and enslaved you.”

She did not know how to respond. At her silence, he seemed to take that as a sign to leave, and she watched with wonder as he opened three more glass containers, releasing three more of her kind into this unknown world.

What was to become of them, if they had no Juno? Will this boy become their new master? Would they be given to someone else? She feared her future, but also could not help the hope she felt as she watched the boy comfort the others with similar softness as he showed to her.

Soon, the boy told them his name. Elijah. Her mind swarmed with knowledge, meanings and history around the name, information downloaded into her mind being accessed without a conscious effort. He then said that he was their older brother, that they all shared a mother. Once more, knowledge fluttered in, of a woman bathed in gold light. She did not know where this knowledge came from, guessing that it more than likely was ingrained into her mind as well, after being created in the container.

Their brother gave them names. She was Alyasa. A name of a prophet. The others were namedafter prophets too. Saleh. Harun. Issac. She felt part of something, with this connection occurring between her and her four other siblings. When given clothes her elder brother had scrounged up from the facility above them, Alyasa knew that she could give her loyalty freely to him and her siblings. To hear him speak of them freeing their mother and finding safety, she could honestly vow her devotion to them all.

For Shaun, the story felt more like an epilogue than a beginning. When intel came that a Templar branch had fallen; that Juno was dead, he couldn’t believe the news. It was like the world froze. And when his computer began getting emails from an unknown sender, Shaun began to doubt the news that Juno was truly dead, as weird emails were up her alley.

But curiosity got the better of him, and he gathered Rebecca, and met at the location that the sender offered. The Grand Temple. Back to the beginning it felt like, standing in front of the entrance, the woman besides him practically vibrating nervous excitement.

Footsteps were heard first, coming up from the entrance of the temple, and in the daylight, the two adults looked in shock at the child before them. They had only heard of the boy, the Sage. About how ‘Mona had given birth to him than cut and ran not too long after. Questions cropped up about whether Desdemona knew of his abilities from the beginning though, but Shaun doubted it.

The boy spoke to them, informing of how ‘Mona was still alive, though comatose. Of how Juno and the Instruments had engineered four children from her DNA for the sake of power. How they had violated a dear friend of his for the sake of total control of the human race. And he spoke of how he planned to lock them away in the temple, until a time they were safe.

The child held the exact same stubborn expression that his mother would wear, and any resolve against this entire situation crumbled in the face of it. Shaun would’ve liked more time to adjust to all this new information, but time seemed to be of the essence. He could fall into a heap of gibbering nonsense later. But now, he and Rebecca had some tasks to complete.

The first, was to see their friend, whom they thought to have died sacrificing herself for a world that didn’t even know it needed a sacrifice for. She was the chosen one, the saviour. But Shaun and Rebecca knew Desdemona as a friend. As a witty woman, strong in her convictions, but with an easy-going nature. A nature that hid the insecurities of how her life was out of her control. A nature that hid how vulnerable and scared she was of her future. But to the end, she kept fierce and resilient as her mind spiralled from abuse no person should go through. To the end, she remained a true Assassin of their creed.

Rebecca and him gazed down at her, and his fists clenched at the sight of their friend. Still, deathly still, her body laid upon an altar. The white cloth covered her, and it would seem like a funeral if not for the faint movement of her lungs working. And the bump of her stomach, Shaun could feel revulsion crawl up his throat at the thought of how she was impregnated against her will in her comatose state.

But Elijah shook his head, “She was pregnant when she saved the world.”

And then the boy had the gall to suggest it was him who had fathered the unborn child. Rebecca’s laugh was near hysterical as Shaun spluttered and vehemently shut down such ideas. But that still left the question of who fathered the child.

A question only Desdemona could answer, and right now she seemed to be in no state to talk. So, with the mystery hanging over their heads, Shaun and Rebecca made their goodbyes and last message to their friend.

Sat in the cavern, to the side of the barred space, was a bag. Inside the bag, held clothes, a hidden wrist blade, some necessities hurriedly gathered together, an ipod and solar powered charger; music kindly compiled by Rebecca. And a recorded message. Their goodbyes. It would never be enough. It would never be a true conversation, as Shaun suspected with a sad resignation that they would not live to see her again. But it would have to be enough to give closure. For both them, and Desdemona.

They were there when the barrier was erected, and they stood there for nearly an hour before finally turning to leave. Shaun would honestly admit, though only this once, that he was crying.

Altair knew something was not right when he opened his eyes, his previous sight being the library was now a stone room. After closing his eyes to finally fall into the slumber of death, he did not expect to open them again. Before him was a child, eyes older and more knowing than someone his age should show. In his hands, a crystal shone, and Altair felt new knowledge enter his mind, similar to the way the Apple did. Instinctively, Altair knew that this was a descendent of his. He knew that he was one of three to guard this descendent and five others.

In a room that dripped in the Isu’s power, Altair felt a new chapter in his undead life beginning. It was wholly unexpected and admittedly exasperating.

The woman, according to another descendent of his, though also ghostly as his own form, was called Desdemona Miles. And that she was the one that saved the world of the Catastrophe that he had received visions of. Ezio Auditore da Firenze was the mentor of the Brotherhood in his time, and seemed to look upon this woman in a wondrous awe.

Altair acknowledged that there was an awe in his own observation, especially with how similar she looked to his own appearance, as well as Ezio’s. Down to the scar on the lip, she was the female copy to the both of them. Energy similar, if more powerful, to the Apple radiated off her still body, and Altair could not help the impatience that flooded him like a novice at the knowledge that it would be a long while before he could greet her properly.

The third sentinel over her and her children, was a tall and broad man. Ratonhnhaké:ton, though offered an alternative of Connor, was a quite man. More reserved than Altair himself. He studied the occupants as they moved and got settled, a firmness that only softened when his gaze caught onto the children.

The children were strange, in their innocence of the world, but vast knowledge that they also held. According the Elijah, who seemed to be the ring leader of this entire situation, they were children artificially made via the blood relation of Desdemona. The boy had to give them more advanced knowledge of this time period they currently stood in, allowing the three past assassins to understand the full problem at hand.

Children unnaturally made without the consent of the mother. A violation of a body. Children made for the purpose of servitude. The disgust was not only held by him but with the other two as well. However, though the children not created via the normal means of reproduction, they were of his bloodline still. Of his family.

And the unborn child, was to be just as fiercely protected as the children were.

But if you think about, the story began when Desdemona met Clay. When her mind was splitting apart, and she was struggling to put it back together, this strange man was with her through it all. Tall and blonde, he was the complete opposite of her when it came to looks, being a short woman in comparison to his almost viking-like stature. His sarcasm was on par with her own, but the philosophy could have been toned down in her opinion. He called her cousin, though it was distant. And Desdemona, the longer she inhabited the Grey, the longer she felt her stupid heart fall.

She was never good when it came to choosing who she loved. Easily falling for those either bad for her or near unreachable. The man she lost her virginity to, and subsequently fathered her first child, was a bad choice. She knew from the very beginning. Not because he was abusive, or rude. But because he was not a choice that would last.

Near ten years older than her, Desdemona would look back and sneer at how the man could easily have sex with someone under age. It was disgusting. But at the time, she barely thought about the consequences or the morality of it. She thought herself in love.

But a month was enough for him to grow bored, and for her to see the problem with their relationship. She left first, out the fire escape and disappearing under a false name once more. The pregnancy came from the left field, and the vomiting wasn’t just because of the life she was growing in her womb.

Abortion would have been the smarter decision, but 15 years of instilled paranoia had her avoiding hospitals. Only when it came time for the birth did she allow herself to walk in after her water broke and be whisked away into the maternity ward.

Elijah. He came out so small and full of indignation that Desdemona felt her heart break with the knowledge that she could not keep him. A life on the run was no place for a child, just more danger to him and herself. She allowed herself half a day to heal and love him, holding him close to her heart.

But when the nurses took him away to be checked up on, Desdemona snuck out, leaving her son behind.

Not a single fucking day went by that she did not think of her child. And giving her life to save the world from burning was an easy decision, because Elijah would live.

But Clay, in that unknown length of time that they had together, she felt that hopeless and helpless fall consume her. The longing took hold whenever she watched him talk and move, eyes following the broad shoulders and wide sweeping hands and arms, adding emphasise to his words. It ached like it ached when she gave up her baby. And she wasn’t stupid. Soon enough, her long gazes were returned, but nothing came of them. Neither willing to step over that invisible line drawn, to add more problems to their situation. Even as a downloaded memory, Clay was just as fragile as her. It was best to not break it.

When he asked if he could come with her, melding their genetic codes together until he found his own body, she hesitated, before saying no. After her mind falling apart and being put back together because of memories and lives that weren’t her’s, she did not want to have another set in her head. Even if it was someone she had fallen for.

She wasn’t surprised though, when she was finally leaving, Animus island deleting itself in bright blue code, that he grasped her face and kissed her hard, refusing to be deleted. She would have done the same, if she was being honest. His kiss was frantic and desperate, clawing to life. His genetic memory flooded her system as she left the island, settling into her body lacking any of the expected intrusiveness.

But of fucking course her body would take that hidden intrusion and warp it into a way for it to understand. Instead of basically becoming a second (-or perhaps third) person in her head, he downloaded his genetics into her god damn uterus.

Not that she knew that when she died. Maybe she would have thought twice about touching the Eye, but then Desdemona shook that off. No. She would’ve still touched it than let the world burn.

Her mind floated for a good while, the space white like the loading screen of the animus, and she wondered if this was what the afterlife would be. Until slowly, colour and shapes began to form, filling her vision with her ancestors memories. Mayaf stood before her, her toes sinking deep into the warm sand as an orange sun set behind the fortress.

Draped in white, loose robes, Desdemona decided that she could live with this afterlife. Wandering the empty halls of Altair’s home bare foot, the woman basked in the heat of the days, and the chill of the nights. Curled up on pillows and blankets, observing the stars, this was true peace in her mind.

Of course it would not last.

“I should have suspected this would be your designed mindscape. Though I would have thought Monteriggioni with how far you experience Ezio’s memories.”

Jarred from her peace, Desdemona whirled around from her stance on the battlements, to see Clay. He wore his own white robes, though tunic short sleeved compared to her long one. The man leant on the battlement wall so casually, warm air softly tussling his blonde hair, and she couldn’t stop the way she threw herself at him.

Despite the peace, loneliness was a given, with no one around in her mind. He was warm, his arms strong around her waist as he lifted her up and held her close. ‘Mona felt hyperaware of every part of her that touched him, body alight with hypersensitivity. The skin that brushed against her own, the softness of his hair that she ran her fingers through. She didn’t know she was touched starved until the moment they collided.

Body slipping through the circle of his arms, her feet touch lightly back onto the ground, and his hands settle with natural ease on her waist. Gazing up at him, she felt her body tremble with a happiness she had not felt in so many years. Her hand cups his cheek, and Clay places a soft kiss to the palm of it.

“How are you here?” She breathed out, feeling like her mind was high in the clouds with euphoria at his presence. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he joked, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Snorting, she used her other hand to shove him lightly on his arm, as he had her other one caught and continuous held to his cheek. It seemed he too had spent a time longing for touch as well. In the warm Syrian evening air, Desdemona basked in the peace, her heart feeling settled.

Then he decides that now would be the best time to drop the bomb that he accidentally impregnated her. “Yeah, I don’t know what went wrong, as I was meant to head up to your brain and not your womb, but uh...” Staring blankly up at him, ‘Mona watched as nervous sweat gathered on his brow as his words trailed off, waiting for her answer. The hands that were laid gently against his chest grasp tightly to his tunic and she pulled and threw him over the battlements with silent rage.

They were dead. It’s not like he was going to die again.

Maybe the cold shoulder that lasted five sunrises was petty, but Desdemona felt that she was allowed such pettiness. A treat for saving the god damn world. And if on those nights, she curled up on her side with her hands pressed to her stomach in wonder, then that was just something she kept to herself.

Her emotions felt too messy, jumbled into knots over what she should be feeling. Dead and in the afterlife, Desdemona knew she would never meet this child, that she would never know what their gender would be, what name she would have given them. Would they have looked just like her? Seeing as they were created artificially and without and actual sperm. Or would they have some of Clay’s features?

She laughed at the thought of the child be an exact replica of him, as he technically was in her womb. But a part of her figured that with her own genetics mixed in, they wouldn’t have been. Still, there was no point in all this thought process, because she would never give birth, nor raise this child.

And that was the crux of the matter: how tired and resigned she felt over how anything that was good in her life, was crushed under the weight of reality. As an assassin, and technically a wanted criminal, she would not have been able to raise the child as she wished she could have with Elijah.

A sob wracked her throat on the fifth night, the despairing loss finally making it’s way out from her chest. Her body shook, feeling smaller than ever before. If circumstances were different, Desdemona would’ve been leaping with joy over having a family. But with the way she was raised, she figured that she wouldn’t have been a good mom to begin with.

It was some hours later that Clay decided to approach her despondent body. When the warm hand that hesitantly settled on her shoulder was not rebuked, she instead rolled into it, burrowing deep into Clay’s chest. It wasn’t fair. They both deserved so much more than what life had dealt them. He held her through her agony as the sun rose upon the golden sand.

When her eyes ached from crying and no sleep, Desdemona croaked out, “I have a son.” She felt his body shift back in surprise, and sniffling, she gave him a wry smile. “Had him around a year after I ran away.”

“So you were...seventeen?”

She huffed out a laugh, “Kinda ironic, but yeah.” Thinking it over, Desdemona murmured, “Elijah should be nine now.”

A pause. “Where is he?”

Face back to burrowing into his chest, the woman shrugged half-heartedly, “Dunno. Hopefully with a good family. I left the hospital less then a day after I had him.”

The arms around her tightened in sympathy, “Oh Des...”

His soft words had her lips trembling with anguish once more, “And now I will never be able to meet this one.” She despaired, and cupping her cheeks, Clay pressed soothing kisses onto her head and face. Body so much larger than her’s, she couldn’t help the safety she felt tucked between him and the wall of the room. The pillows surrounded their bodies in a nest as they held one another close, seeking comfort.

It was only later on that day, that he actually gave the news that she wasn’t dead, just comatose. Apparently, he was planning to tell her on the first day they reunited, but after the silent treatment she gave him, he never had a chance until now. The news jerked her mental state out of the spiral of sadness it was in, going into the more focused mindset she had kept up during the entire on-the-run-animus-diving-period of her life. Maybe it wasn’t healthy to shove them aside like that, but how else was she going to focus?

He didn’t know what exactly was going on in the outside world, only that she was still alive. And more than likely in some kind of coma. What that meant for her currently and if she would still be pregnant when she woke up was a mystery to the two of them.

Unlike when in the Grey, she couldn’t wake herself up by crappily gluing her shattered mental state back together via figuring out which pieces were her own mind, and which were two ancestors some hundreds of years ago.

But...

She did not mind being stuck like this. At least, not for awhile. If or when she woke up, Desdemona would deal with reality then. But for now, it was just her and Clay. And it was enough.

But that chapter of the story ends with an awakening.


	2. Chapter 2

A signal, bouncing off nothing and fading into the distance. They projected a message, a call to the world around them: Is it safe? Because in the end, they didn’t want anything but safety. They wanted assurance that when they brought the barrier down, they were guaranteed peace. And when they felt not a single mind with the signal, they wondered if it would be a good time to awaken.

But caution was their strong suit, unwilling to bring danger upon their family by being too eager tobe wary. So they stayed in their vigilant slumber, letting the power circulate between the five of them. Their minds combined into one, their bloodline pulsing with five hearts as one singular beat.

And when, when the years continued to flow past them their family frozen in time, there was no more humans that they could sense, they slowly began to withdraw the power they harnessed.

After millenniums of in such a state, to withdraw so quickly would lead to a massive backlash that could either devastate the world or themselves. So more years creeped past, the power dwindling further and further, until only a thin shield surrounded them. Thin, but still able to keep out possible enemies.

Extracting their minds from one another, coming back to themselves was difficult. Elijah had it easier than the other four, as he had years to come into his own person as he grew. But them? They had a week tops to gather some form of free thinking and personality. Where his mind was a deep ocean of thoughts, ideas, and emotions, they were but a very small pond.

He had to ease them apart, gently coaxing their minds back to their state before. It was taxing, and Elijah couldn’t wait until all this was over so he could take a long rest. Maybe they weren’t awake in the sense of his three ancestors-turned-sentinels during their sharing of power, but they were still vaguely aware. Sleep was definitely near the top of his to-do list.

Grit covered his eyes, sleep gathered after too long of being closed, and Elijah set the Koh-i-Noor down. His fingers were stiff from being in one position for so long, and he had to flex them before he could wipe at his eyes. The bones and muscles clicked and stretched, a satisfying ache. Around him, he heard his siblings own winces and groans as they too felt the side-effects of sitting on a stone floor for over twenty thousand years.

Cracking his neck, Elijah tried to force himself to stand, only to stumble and fall into a pair of strong arms. Blinking groggily, the boy looked up into the eyes of Ezio. The man gave a soft smile, “Welcome back, little one.” He spoke in accented english.

And then with firm hands, his ancestor straightened Elijah up, hovering nearby in case the boy fell as he got his legs up underneath him. Rubbing at his eyes once more, he casted an assessing gaze around the room, watching as Connor helped Isaac up, Harun already standing, though he was more leant against the altar. His two sisters clung to Altair, both holding a sleepy heaviness to their eyes.

And then, like moths to a flame, all their eyes naturally fell to his mother. She stayed as still as she was before. Not a single flicker of her eye lids to show a sign of awakening. Harun reached out, uncertain, and placed a hand on her covered leg, shaking it gently. Nothing. Not a single twitch.

Frustration welled up in Elijah, wondering if they were left alone on an empty planet for nothing. Would she never wake up then?

Sensing his upset, Ezio laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Do not worry, little one. She was like this before, correct? Maybe a natural rest will help her wake.”

Altair nodded, “It would be best to scout and find supplies. We need to see how survivable the planet is now, as much could have happened in our time frozen.”

With a deep breath, Elijah nodded in agreement, trying to focus his mind on survival and not his emotions. Rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand, he nodded again to himself. “We could use the temple as a home base. Hopefully not forever.”

And then Saleh piped up from next to Altair, eyeing the sentinels in bewilderment, “Aren’t you meant to be illusions?”

Frowning, Elijah nodded, “Yeah. Tangible ones.” And then his eyes widen in realisation at what his brother getting at, even a he replied.

“So, now that you aren’t using the crystal, why haven’t they disappeared?”

The silence was still with that question, and Elijah eyed the crystal, sitting innocently on the ground by the altar. His mind whirled with possible reasons. Maybe the constant flow of the Isu power gave them bodies? But how? It didn’t make any sense.

The construction of their illusion was mainly taken from what he had read and learnt about them. But noticing the way they moved, and interacted with one another before he and his siblings went into their slumber, they seemed too real. He had never made illusions before with the crystal, they were his first one. He was desperate, feeling like they had no time, let alone learn how to use the artefact.

“Maybe,” Alyasa began quietly, everyone fixing their eyes to her small form, “Maybe mother helped?”

Isaac bit at his lip, “How? She’s unconscious.”

“Well, what if it drew from her memories? She glowed like we did the entire time. So...” She trailed off, now curling into herself, uncertain from all the attention. Altair gave her head a soft pat in reassurance, and tension eased slightly from her shoulders.

Rubbing at his nose in thought, Elijah thought that was a good conclusion, but it still didn’t explain why they were still here. Maybe the object combined with the constant influx of power managed to give them real bodies along with their memories of their lives before. Either way, Elijah wasn’t too upset over them being here. It was comforting to have some adults to help. He may have a lot of knowledge that spanned over the course of humanity, but he still was a kid. Responsibility was terrifying, and he was happy to shove most of it off onto them.

Though hesitant, all of them left the room leaving Desdemona behind, wanting to see the state of the world. And what a state it was, Elijah gapped, as they left the entrance of the cavern.

The world before had the area around the entrance to be lightly covered with trees and nature. And now, it was like they stood in a barren crater. As if people tried to destroy the land around them in order to get through their barrier. But Isu tech, say what you want, it could really last against anything.

Luckily though, after they got over their shock, and past the barren area was nature at it’s most wild. Trees taller than he had ever seen towering like skyscrapers. There was a city not too far from the cave when they first entered, and as they wandered further away, slowly, ancient civilisation showed itself.

Builds, half crumbled but still standing, were covered in ivy and plants. Grass sprouted through concrete paths. Cars rusted on the sides. But everything held a futuristic appearance. Vehicles more advanced and designed like he had never seen before. Buildings with architecture that had subtle designs similar to skyscrapers, but with more curves and bulbous shapes to each tower.

He did not like the change, but could admire the advancement. Still, besides what seemed like the rich completely taking over the city and making it ugly, full of minimalism and steel, the other parts of the city were better. Door ways were arched instead of the typical rectangle he grew up with, and houses made with a type of stone that looked a mixture of brick and concrete. IT was like the rich when for as ‘advanced’ looking as possible in their designs, where the less wealthy preferred more rustic or older building designs in this city.

It took time to truly explore the city, as none of them wanted to stray too far from Desdemona. They searched for food and water on their first trip before heading back to the temple. Taking turns to explore and scavenge, they would leave one of the assassin’s to stay with Desdemona, in case she woke up, wanting her to see a more familiar face than a random child who looked like her.

On the outskirts of the city, they found what seemed to be an old farm home, the land which used to be acres of farming land, was take over by trees and bushes as seemed to be the running theme with the abandoned planet. But it was closer to the temple than finding a place in the city. And, it was nice. Being on a rural farm, rebuilding and making a home.

Connor came in handy than any of the other ancestors, having worked on a homestead, as well as living in the wild. He began to teach the children to hunt and track, learning to skin animals and divide the meat up. In one of the hunting trips, Isaac and him had found a small flock of sheep. Weird, mutated sheep, that were larger than what Elijah was sure they were meant to be. But with them, brought wool to make blankets and clothes with. And then the goats were a game changer, a good two months into rebuilding the farm. With the access to milk and cheese, Elijah could have wept with joy, much to his family’s amusement.

Altair took to spinning wool with silent pride, having gone off of what Connor knew and what he himself had learnt from observing weavers of his time. Elijah saw how his body seemed to fall into a relaxed focus, spending some hours a day combing, spinning, and plying wool into yarn. Soon they had balls and skeins of different sizes of yarn, waiting to be made into something. Connor and Ezio had to put their minds together in order to make a loom so they could use the material that was just being left to gather dust to actually make fabrics and blankets.

Many of his creations were with tick threads of yarn than any of the fabrics from Elijah’s time, but it was still something to keep warm with. And with only rudimentary skill in sewing, they wore many ponchos and draped style clothes. They did find clothes in their many trips to the city, however, there was something about wearing clothes that were made completely by hand by a family member, and stuck to using things like underwear and pants found in the city primarily, as they were a bit harder to make.

His siblings, Elijah could watch for hours, soon came into themselves, personalities coming out of the wood work like they were always there. Just needing kind guidance and freedom to grow. They all look almost exactly like their mother, though that’s a given seeing as they are basically clones of her with only slight modifications made here and there.

Their hair colour varies in shades of brown and whether they have stronger curls like Saleh and Harun, or more loose like Alysa and Isaac. Their eye colours were all the same brown that glowed and amber-gold when using Eagle Vision, as they inherited from their bloodline. Elijah was the only one to have heterochromia though, one a golden brown and the other a deep blue, however that was down to him being a Sage. Or at least that’s how he figured it.

Isaac took well to tracking and hunting with Connor, but enjoyed messing in the garden, tongue stuck out in concentration. He was soft spoken, taking on similar stern characteristics that Connor had, after spending so much time with him. Languages came easier for him than the other four kids, as sure, they had some knowledge grown into their minds when in tubes, but not full, fluent languages. He took time whenever he could, just absorbing as much as he could from the three ancestors.

Harun was what Elijah secretly called an air-head, as he spent time when not helping out just staring up at the sky, lost in thought. Not to say he was an idiot, none of them lacked intelligence. Harun just enjoyed solitude. Talking with the animals or humming a nonsensical tune to himself. He had a sharp eye for finding the weirdest things though when they traversed the city, and started to collect a small stock of art supplies.

Saleh took to weaving and learning different textile work. Spending hours upon hours pouring over books they had found about crocheting, knitting, and sewing. Connor helped both her and Altair at finding different natural dyes for their woven fabric and yarn. She grew into a very brash child, not afraid to get straight to the point and speak her mind. Altair once muttered something about being like a miniature Malik, taking no one’s bullshit. She seemed to enjoy her hands on her hips as she scolded one of them or was watching over their sheep with a critical eye of an eagle.

Alyasa was near demanding when it came to joining sparring practises between the adults, more-so than Elijah himself. She seemed to be the most determined to follow in their ancestors footsteps of learning and following the creed. But besides her abrasive nature on fighting, she joined Ezio and Elijah when it came to cooking, watching them with shrewd eyes of concentration. But a habit he wished she didn’t pick up, was telling really bad jokes out of the books she had found around the city. Groans of exasperation and unwilling amusement were heard at least five times a day in their new home.

Elijah himself liked exploring the city the most, seeing the remnants of his lost society. As he was the only one who could appreciate it until his mother woke up, Elijah took it upon himself to being the one that taught them all about his time, and tried to scavenge as much past knowledge as possible. Music was the main focus for him, wanting to keep himself sane by being able to just zone out with a good playlist. It was a relief to see that the keeping of past knowledge was better with more advanced technology from his time. That meant, even some twenty thousand years in the future, some of his favourite artists were still being listened to even after centuries of them being dead.

But the one thing that really caught them all off guard, was how after being connected at the mind for so long, the kids could communicate with each other mentally. It was jarring that other voices were chiming in at times, and Elijah wondered if this was how his mother felt when she was going through the Bleeding Effect the reports on her described. But after sometime adjusting and setting boundaries, they soon realised how freaking handy it was, especially when long distance or lost in the massive forest.

With how many there were of them, as well as when Desdemona woke up and had her child in the future, their house was certainly not begin enough when they first found it. The farm house was still hooked up to running water, though lacking in electricity. Between five kids and three adults, born and dead before electricity, they were hopeless in figuring it out. Books were their main source of learning new skills, or adding to the ones they currently had. But none really wanted to try messing with the wiring in the house. However, candles and daylight worked just fine for them. Sure it took time for Elijah to get used to, but it wasn’t that difficult. Though he grumbled about how none of his family seemed to get why it was such a big deal to be without it.

With space problem, they soon had to build onto the house, having been made for a maximum of four people. There was a lot of argument in types of architecture the three men wanted, preferring different styles. In the end, they settled on following the similar farm house style that it currently had, but began to add more clay and rock add ons, as that was the one material they all seemed to agree on.

In the end, after some five months into the reawakening, they were building a large, square structure, with a courtyard in the middle, for a small garden and laundry area. To Elijah, it looked like a weird traditional Mexican house he had seen on tv or in magazines. The way it connected to the original farm house though did not fit right. But they were planning to take that down after expanding the plumbing situation. In the end, the original part of the house became the main washing area, as it had all the pipes already built in.

All in all, Elijah was really enjoying the turn his life went. If only his mother would awaken.

On her side, Desdemona laid and watched Clay’s back move in time to his breathing. He faced the doorway, firmly placing himself between the door and her, even though they were the only two people in this place. It did something to her heart, to have someone protecting her, even to a subconscious degree. For so long she relied on herself, and then was the protector more than the protected. An assassin.

Softly, her hand reached out and trailed down his bare back, white skin stark against her darker tone. Doted about his back were small moles and freckles, and she couldn’t resist moving forward and placing a gentle kiss to one. It may have been a bit of joke, when she called him her guardian angel whilst in the grey, and his snapped back denial of their existence had her silenced. But internally, and a bit embarrassed at how cheesy it was, Desdemona still saw him as such.

As vigilant as ever, Clay woke up from her touch, and lazily rolled over. Eyes not even open, he tugged her to his chest, her coming willingly into his arms. Skin sleep warm, Desdemona happily shoved her face under his chin, a soft hum of amusement she heard vibrating through his chest in response to her movement.

They began counting sunrises, scratching tally marks on a wall of their room, around the time after Clay’s appearance. Soon they had to move their mark making to another wall. They didn’t know if it was even a reliable way of keeping track how long they spent in her subconscious, but it was a small way of trying to stay sane. It was difficult, two people who were both of a fragile mind state, stuck in one place with barely anything to keep themselves occupied.

After her initial breakdown at finding herself pregnant, Clay and her began to learn about one another. Details that were skipped over between suicide messages and getting her mind fixed whilst trying to not get deleted. His sardonic nature softened over time, and Desdemona found the towering walls around her vulnerability taken down, brick by brick.

Romantic feelings were known and apparent, but hesitation lingered, neither willing to really take that first step. So, they walked around the topic and just let themselves become friends first. Guards down and hearts bared, Desdemona really learnt just how fucking broken they were and still are.

Bad days were common, mainly on Clay’s end whose depression and near insanity did not so easily disappear with downloading himself into a machine, and then her body. She wasn’t trained in how to help, but when he needed space she gave it. And when he needed to vent his anger, she gave him a willing body who fought back. And when he broke down, she held him close. It wasn’t the therapy that he really needed, but it was the best she could give him.

For Desdemona, it was her apathy that caused problems. Besides an initial reaction at whatever came her way, she learnt to shut down and become unbothered. And it started way before she left the Farm. With her dad consistently pushing for more than she could give, with her mother being silent and bending to her husband’s will, Desdemona realised that her anger and fear were not doing anything to help her situation.

Arrogant she presented to her peers. Cold and unaffected when with her parents. She was broken before even getting into the animus and her mind being scrambled like eggs. Apathy was her coping mechanism, and it was a struggle to over come even just the initial, reflexive reaction of shutting down in the face anything.

With Clay having explosive episodes, and Desdemona becoming silent and blank, it was difficult. But after near over three thousand years, or so the tally marks suggested, she liked to think that they’ve healed the best they could in their situation.

And with that, like the creeping dawn over Masyaf, they finally allowed themselves to open up for romance. They’ve already become used to a physical and mental intimacy, seeing one another in their worst states ever, so the next step was the better times. It was the more domestic times, the casual moments of love. Hands held, fingers brushing against skin, and tight hugs.

From the beginning they were already sharing a bed, not wanting to be alone, but now the subtle tension disappeared with the true acknowledgment of their affections. And even from the beginning, Desdemona marvelled silently at how Clay always laid closest to the door. Always.

At the highest tower, Desdemona sat with her legs thrown over the edge, staring off into the distance, over looking the town below the castle. Even before the animus, she loved high places. Something about them being calm, making her problems seem so small in the face of how large the world was. And after her ancestors memories invading her own, she saw the more tactical approach from being high up. A good defence and allowed surveillance of her environment.

In her subconscious, her guard never needed to be up though, so being up high was her way of seeking time to herself, which Clay respected. However, as footsteps neared her spot, he sometimes joined her too.

Legs swinging over the edge, Clay bumped his shoulder against her’s as he sat down. With only the blow of the wind to fill the silence, Desdemona laid her head on his shoulder, still looking forward, lacing her fingers with his.

“You know,” She began, voicing her thoughts as they came, “When you asked if I regretted anything-“

“You stopped yourself from saying something.” He finished for her. Bewildered, Desdemona arched her head up to look at him. His brow quirked in fond amusement. “You mentioned about wishing you listened to your parents, were more patient with them. Understanding. And then you nearly said one other thing you regretted. But stopped yourself.”

Humming in thought, Desdemona asked, “Why didn’t you call me out?”

He shrug with the shoulder she wasn’t resting on, “We were practically strangers, ‘Mona. I was surprised you even answered me honestly.”

Mouth quirked in fondness, she continued with what she wanted to tell him, “I regret that I couldn’t raise Elijah like I wished I did.” Wetting her dry lips, she forged on in his silent encouragement, “It’s not like I could have given him a good life. Hell, I don’t know shit about raising a child to begin with. But I just wish...”

As she trailed off, Clay wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, and breathed out with soft understanding, “Yeah, I know.” And then pressed a kiss against her temple in comfort.

Earlier on in their occupancy of her mind, Desdemona grumbled about how he got her pregnant but they didn’t even get to do the fun part. Clay laughed. Even after they finally got around to acknowledging their feelings for one another, it still took awhile before the moved past kissing. Neither of them were virgins, but it had been a very long time, even before he died or she was kidnapped.

She liked sex, but after how she fell into bed with the father of Elijah so easily, she withheld from having sex with strangers. Not wanting to get too close before she had to move on to another city. Only when that itch needed to be scratched, and even then it wasn’t that satisfying.

Sex with Clay? Was like a fucking revelation. Sex was always quick. Wham bam thank you ma’am. Being around strangers had her hackles raised and wary, unable to fully lower her guard. But getting to the point with Clay, where their conversations were what other people would deem as overshare, she found herself relaxing completely. Allowing it to be slow, to be fun.

When they first settled in their semi-life in her mind, she began to run him through the assassin paces. He may have been a good two or so years in his own ancestors minds, but he never physically worked those mental muscles. He was never raised assassin like she was. Even after running away she kept up with the training and routine, knowing that it was useful for at least surviving on the streets.

It was fun to beat his ass into the ground, training in the same place Altair did. Or at least, not physically the same place, but it’s the thought that counts. Sure, this was also technically in the mind too, but it was something to do. And Clay seemed to like having his ass whipped into shape.

So when it came to the sex, his body had firmed up, shoulders broad and arms strong. She herself was in good shape, but being naturally slighter and smaller than him had a thrill running through her spine as his large hands manhandled her at times. Even outside of sex, when he would sometimes lift her up casually, Desdemona became flustered at the show of strength and ease.

Their first time was filled with nerves, excitement and hesitation all mixed in with their arousal and love for one another. The lust was there, but it was full of so much more. In her mind, it seemed that they had a connection of their emotions when they were heightened. And boy were they heightened during sex.

She had never known of the sounds he pulled out of her, gasping with every thrust. Leaving a blaze of hot bites and kisses across her neck and chest, her fingers twisted in his hair, clawing at his back. Sex from past experiences was shattered into dust when with him, because it was their bodies coming together and more. It was all that they felt for one another. It was the slight self-consciousness Clay showed when his body was on display. How she remedied it the best she could by giving it the worship it deserved but never got. It was the way he treated her with a gentleness that lacked any patronising edge. He truly believed her battle hardened body and mind was worthy of unconditional kindness.

And in the afterglow, limbs entangled, Clay’s hands always, without fail, unconsciously drifted to her stomach. The bump was faint, never changing size, but an ever present shape. And the protective hand could have her weeping from all that she felt for this man.

Her awakening was on the horizon. Literally. What used to be mountains in the distance was a blank white space. It reminded them of the grey. Their time was coming to an end, and Desdemona did not want to be without Clay. She wanted to wake up next to him like they have for the past twenty thousand years, never tiring of how the Syrian morning light made his hair shine gold.

Everyday, they would wake up and find the whiteness coming closer, and their habits shifted into a silent clinginess. Desdemona found that she couldn‘t take her eyes off him, trying to memorise every hair placement, every colour in his eyes. Everything. Because she knew that this would be her last chance. Clay didn’t do the same, instead just held her close at night. Would murmur softly in Polish in her ear. A melancholy fell over them, and there was no way to be able to dig themselves out of it.

And finally, when their world became just a room. A room filled with over thousands of tally marks. A room with pillows and blankets piled up into a nest in the corner. Books taken from the library stacked high around them. A sanctuary inside a sanctuary. She curled around him, his head cradled in her arms and to her chest, and they held one another close. A false light shone through their window, and Desdemona couldn't stop how her body shook. She wasn’t crying. But her entire being felt as if it was weeping anyways.

His voice broke the heavy silence, soft but loud in their little room, “If we were normal. If this was real life, what would you have named our kid?”

She stilled at his words, sadly contemplating her answer. “Elijah got his name from this elderly couple that took me in when they found me on the streets. It was the name of the husband. He-“ She let out a choked laugh, “He was more of a father than my actual one.”

Clay’s arms tightened around her waist, the same way they always did when she mentioned her dad. “If it’s a boy, don’t name him Arnold.”

A surprised laugh bursted out of her at his dead serious tone, “Why not?”

He shrugged, “It means eagle power, and I know you like the bird theme, but it’s a horrible name. Don’t you dare do that to our kid, ‘Mona.” She continued to laugh as he kept on with his faux-worried plead. “Have mercy on them! They would be so bullied.”

Desdemona snorted, “Says the guy named ‘Clay’.”

He scoffed, “I’m speaking from experience, asshole.”

Relenting, but laughter still held in her voice, Desdemona conceded, “Fine, fine. I won’t name them that. Though I wouldn’t have to begin with.”

“Good. I quite like Bronisław.”

“Bless you.”

“Shut up.” Clay grumbled into her shoulder, “It’s a nice name.”

Humming, Desdemona asked, “Isn’t it your grandpa’s name?”

“Yeah.” After so long of being with just one another, everything about themselves was known to one each other. But sometimes, it made them feel normal to pretend and ask questions on a topic they already knew. Clay’s grandparents on his father’s side immigrated from Poland to the US, and in the years that he knew them, he loved them fiercely. They were kinder than his demanding father, and actually stepped in when it got too far, unlike his mother. He loved his mom, but she was meek in the face of his dad’s anger and cold disappointment.

“If it’s a girl, did you want her to be called Miluška then?” She softly wondered.

“Yeah...” And he sounded thick in the throat, as if holding back the need to cry. In response, ‘Mona held him tighter, pressing a soft kiss to his hair.

Their conversation trailed off from there. It felt almost pointless to be deciding all this when it was likely that her baby wasn’t there anymore. They had a theory that if the child was born, his consciousness would be in it, like he was reborn through Desdemona. It was a weird thought, but if he got to live again, she wouldn’t complain. At least she could try to give him a better life than the one he had previous. And this time, he wouldn’t have to meet his end in such a violent and self-destructive way.

He sometimes talked about how it was all for her, becoming philosophical when his thoughts spiralled. Pondering that maybe his existence was created for her, to help her, and in the end, to help save to world. She hated the thought that he was created just to die for her, even if it gave him comfort at having some meaning in his life.

When the false sun set, casting orange and pinks across their marked walls, Clay grasped her tight. His form was fading and she hurriedly pressed her lips to his. “I love you.” She gasped, feeling the need to scram bubbling in the back of her throat. She said it like she said it once, twice, a hundred, thousand, and millions times. She said it with all the truth, honestly, and pure devotion she felt for him.

She memorised the way his lips felt against her, whispering back, “I love you too, ‘Mona.”

Holding tight, tight, tighter to his form as it slipped away, she did not once glance away from him as he faded away. His blue eyes soft and a gentle smile playing on his lips. It hid away his sadness for the separation, and she hated that he tried to be strong for her in these last moment. She hated it because she was falling apart so easily the second he disappeared. Her arms gave away with the lack of a body to embrace, and she curled up in his space of the bed, screaming in anguish as the world brightened around her to white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cause I love names and their meanings, here you go:  
> Alyasa - noble  
> Saleh - pious/righteous  
> Harun - warrior lion  
> Isaac - laughter  
> (As mentioned in the previous chapter, they are names of prophets)  
> Bronisław - broni, to protect, to defend. And sław, glory, fame  
> Miluška - gracious, dear
> 
> Soooo, that was a little sad. But clay and Desdemona are an interesting pair to write. They have a lot of issues, but with all that time on their hands, they managed to really learn about one another. Next chapter we will see desdemona wake up and realise that she know has five kids and one on the way. Also i can’t describe architecture for shit, so apologies. I tried.

**Author's Note:**

> (Yes the title is lyrics from a taylor swift song)


End file.
